LG Fuad
by Widow Black
Summary: Severitus. Harry wants his scar to be gone, and a reason to contuine to live. Oneshot angsty L.G. Fuad by Motion City Soundtrack, NOT L.G. Fraud. Read and Review please!


Disclaimer-The title of this fic is from the srong'_ L.G. Fraud_ by _Motion city soundtrack_. The lyrics in here are also by _Motion City Soundtrack-L.G. Fraud. _All Harry Potter characters and themes are owned by J.K.Rowling. I own nothing.

Author Note- Hello. My names Sara, aka Lou Lou or Volinde. I have written a few fancitions. (None are up here anymore.) But this is my first one-shot, Severtius, songfic, or even an angst. But i really wanted to give it a try. So...here it goes. Please Read and Review to tell me what i should do to improve. I'm planning on writing a Fic after HPB, so I need all the input i can gets. Thanks!

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**L.G. Fraud**

_Let's get fucked up and die..  
I'm speaking figuratively, of course..  
Like the last time I committed suicide.. social suicide..  
Yeah, so I'm already dead on the inside,  
But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,  
I've learned to love the lie._

I am in his quarters again. I don't understand why, or how, I keep ending up in there. I don't even like the guy. We share a mutual feeling of hatred for each other. But it is the only place I can escape and stop acting like I'm happy because I know that he doesn't care about my wellbeing. Bloody hell, I don't even care about my own wellbeing. Maybe I should.

_I wanna know what it's like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.  
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah  
Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong,  
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,  
I'm addicted to words and they're useless._

I think Hermione has started to see through me. Past my fake smile, and the hollow laughs lacking any real emotion. She tries to understand. Ha. No one can understand. And now I sound like some bloody stereotypical teenager. I wish I was stereotypical and not the bloody boy-who-lives. I want to be the-boy-who-know-one-knows-about. But that's impossible. I have the scar; I am a marked man for life.

Hermione is clueless. Everyone is clueless, and that's the way I want it.

_(In this department)  
Let's get fucked up and die..  
I'm riding hard on the last legs of every lie,  
And the BMX bike of my life is about to explode,  
I'm about to explode.  
I'm a mess, I'm a wreck.  
I am perfect, and I have learned to accept all my problems and short comings,  
Because I am so visceral, yet deeply inept._

"Potter." He finally noticed that I'm here then.

I don't respond.

"Potter," He says coldly. "Get out of my quarters."

I don't move.

"So now you're too high and mighty to talk too even you're _father_?" His lips curl up, knowing that I can't help but respond to that.

"You are not my father, you greasy git." Even that lacked my usual cold emotion. Maybe I really am slowly loosening it.

"So lackluster these days," He sneers. "Dear, drear…"

He's mocking me. I'm letting him.

I turn to face his fire, not willing to look at his horrible hook nose any longer.

For a second, though, it looked like he was mildly confused about my lack of contempt. Does he realize that I don't care anymore?

No, of course not. He's only my father. Why _should_ he care?

"How tragic. The-boy-who-lived is wallowing in self pity now." I wouldn't call it _wallowing…_

"Can't you just leave me alone? I know you don't care." Doesn't he get it?

Does he not see how far gone I am? I hold the fate of the world on my shoulders, and I don't care anymore. I don't care. It is as simple as that. I have lost everyone that I even care about, so why does it matter anymore? The bloody world deserves it. They exploit me, making it out to be if I _enjoy_ this. If they saw me now…Saw how I've lost my will for life…

_I want to thank you for being a part of my the forget-me-nots and marigolds..  
And all the things that don't get old..  
Is it legal to do this? I surely don't know.  
It's the only way I have learned to express myself around other peoples' descriptions of life..  
I'm afraid I'm alone and entirely useless..._

"I don't care anymore!" I hear myself scream. Where did that come from?

I turn to face Snape, my father, again. He seems genuinely surprised.

"This is not how it's supposed to be!" Where is this coming from? Why am I saying this? "Do you know how hard it is to know that I alone hold the fate of the world on my shoulders? Do you know what its like to be completely alone in the world, to have a father that doesn't care at all how you feel? Do you even know that the one thing I've always wanted was a family? A real family that cares? I used to ask for one every bloody year for Christmas, and now I get stuck with _this_? It is not bloody fair! All I want is to be the stereotypical 16 year old! Is _that_ too much to ask for? Apparently!" Why did I just say that? I didn't want _him_ to know that.

I'm shacking. An old feeling of emotion is rising in my throat, and I hate it. Loath it.

"You can stay." Snape said gruffly, for lack of anything else, and sits back at his desk.

_(In this department)  
Let's get fucked up and die.  
For the last time I'm feeling  
we'll try not to smile  
As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the nights  
That's no shocking and surprise.  
I believe that I can, overcome this and beat everything in the end  
But I choose to abuse for the time being,  
maybe I'll win, but for now I've decided to die._

Somehow I ended up standing; I sit back in old, dark armchair in front of the unforgiving fire.

I'm scratching at my scar. I want it gone. It needs to be gone. I'd be normal if it wasn't there. I'd have parents.

I've finally snapped.

_Scratch, scratch. _It's bleeding now. Maybe it's finally going to go away… I keep scratching. I feel the skin peel away under my fingernails, and my hair slowly getting covered in blood. I feel my head. I can still feel the scar. Crying out in frustration, I tear at the hideous thing harder. I want it gone. It _needs_ it gone.

I want to be gone. I need to be gone.

Someone has grabbed my wrist, and pinned them to my side.

How dare they?

I kick, and struggle to get out of their grasp.

The hand tightens around my wrist.

Blood and tears are obstructing my vision, but I can make out the dark figure of my father.

Emotion lumps in my throat, and I find myself sobbing into the chest of my father, who is utterly bewildered.

"I can't take it anymore." I sob.

I don't want this. I didn't want him to know. I had done so well in hiding it from everyone else, even Dumbledore. But not anymore. _He_ knows.

"I don't want it."

Somehow he has ended up sitting on the edge of the chair, with my body leaning on him. I fear that if he wasn't there, nothing would left to hold me up.

My body racks with cold sobs, and I don't want this. I want to go back to no one knowing.

I feel him trying to clean up my bloody forehead, a mix of blood and tears all over his robes.

_Sister soldier  
You've been such a positive influence on my mental frame  
If I could ever repay you,  
I would, but I'm hard up for cash  
And my memory lacks initiative. _

God damn the liquor stores' closed,  
were so close to scoring  
it hurts, it destroys til it kills..  
I am tired and hungry and totally useless.  
(In this department)

My sobbing slowly ceases, but I remain leaning on my fathers frame. I fear that if he wasn't there, nothing would be left to hold me up.

I don't even like the guy.

Maybe someone will care now.

Do I have a reason to live yet?

I have a father.

I need to hear him say it.

"I need a reason to live." I say quietly. Honestly, I don't know to expect. He is a bloody git, ex-death eater, and my father. Should he care?

I'm confused.

There is a moment of complete silence before he answers. I don't know what I'll do if I get the answer I expect him to say.

No, I do know what I'll do. I'll go to the point of no return.

"I-," He stops. I'm not breathing for some reason. "I still need to get you to brew at least one potion decently. No kin of mine will be worthless in potion-making." He says this with his usual sneer, but this time it has something more; it has a small amount of emotion.

I breathe into his chest. I have a reason.

I fear that if he wasn't there, nothing would be left to hold me up.

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I hope you enjoyed!

If i have time, should i do this, but in Snapes POV?


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